


Shot to the Heart

by Corycides



Series: Hands On [1]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 19:53:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corycides/pseuds/Corycides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie wasn't proud of it, and she didn't understand it, but it was the only thing that turned her on</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shot to the Heart

There hadn't been a lot of privacy on the road; there was less in the rebel camps. If it wasn't Charlie's family trying to fuss over her, it was the rebels keeping a not altogether trusting eye on her. Usually it didn't bother her. She'd never been alone much – her Dad keeping a wary eye on her, her keeping a wary eye on...Danny – so she was used to it.

Some things though, she didn't want to do with her uncle just a bedroll away. Or the mother that liked to pretend she was still a little girl hovering just over her shoulder.

She perched on the edge of the toilet, her boot braced against the door, and slid her hand between her legs. Fingers slid into the wet folds of her sex, tickling familiar places with unfamiliar guilt. Despite Maggie's lecture on 'this is normal, this is natural' it felt wrong. Like she shouldn't feel anything but grief and guilt, like letting anything else in, even for a minute, disrespected Danny's death.

And because _he_ was the only thing that worked. She didn't know why, didn't understand it, didn't _like_ it – but the the man who'd broken her family was the only thing that coaxed heat into her belly.

It should have been Jason. She'd fucked Jason, knew the freckles on his shoulders and the knobbles of his joints, but it had been simple back then. He'd been Nate, she'd not known half as much and none of it had been real. He made her mind noisier, static of distrust and uncertainty filling her body so tight there was no room for anything else.

Hatred should have done the same thing. It didn't. Hating Monroe was a simple thing, the only option available. It was easy. It was part of the point.

Hot, glass-blue eyes and his lips on her throat – precise as he kissed her, precise as the way as he called her Charlotte – the gun cold against her thigh. He hadn't been holding the gun, but he might as well have been. Strausser was just an extension of Monroe.

She felt that spike of awareness again. Not sex. Better, more intense. In that minute, when she thought she was going to die, she'd been so aware of her body. Every inch of skin, from the scrape of her bra against her nipples to the broken nail on her little finger. And him, looking at her like she was the only _interesting_ thing in the world.

Heat clenched in her thighs and across her stomach, the flesh under her fingers wet and slick as she drew patterns and thought about his hands. He had hands like – ok, no, that was going to put her off – practical hands, scarred and callused. The scrape of his thumb was rough against her clit, business-like, efficient. Her hips hitched up, the door creaking as her foot pushed against it, and her breath caught and scratched her throat.

She closed her eyes and bit her lip, chewing the soft flesh raw between sharp white teeth. Her other hand slid up under her shirt, pinching her nipple through the thin cotton of her bra. His lips, his teeth, his breath on her as the gun slid down her body.

Her fingers slid deeper, pushing inside her roughly enough to make her ache and shift her hips. In her mind she wasn't sure if it was his fingers, his cock or the gun moving inside her – and it didn't matter, it wasn't up to her. Any of them, all of them, worked.

Him touching her, him killing her, and she came with a bone-rattling shudder and a groan she bit back with teeth sharp enough to draw blood. She slouched back, the cold cistern pressing against her shoulder blades, and closed her eyes.

Maybe if she fucked Jason again? It would reset everything, untwist whatever have gone skew down there.

Someone rapped on the door to the toilets. 'Charlie?' Miles said. 'You OK?'

She scrambled up off the toilet, buttoning her jeans back up, and shouldered out of the cubicle. 'Yeah,' she said, scrubbing her hands and splashing water over her face to disguise the flush and sweat. Grabbing her crossbow she slung it over her shoulder and went out, pulling the door open and finding Miles leaning against the wall outside. She managed a smile and a lie. 'I'm fine, Miles.'

 


End file.
